Drunk in Barstow,
waiting for a waitress,
who gets off at 2:00 a.m.
The crap game cleaned me,
two bums on the pool table,
snoring like a train
Drunk in Barstow,
third time this month,
I just never seem to learn
The waitress said,
“My boyfriend’s gone,
truck’s on the road to Bern”
Drunk in Barstow,
on borrowed time,
the repo man at hand
I swear tomorrow
I’ll get it right,
tonight—any way I can
(Barstow California: July, 1991)
Go into the Badlands.
Get your private screening.
See how the universe works.
Have a double dose of psych.
Bath in its sea of love,
Smell the enemy within.
The dark tower.
The soul surfer.
In your warrior's way,
Embrace the den of thieves.
You'll feel pretty.
Now, get out of my room
Big city greens.
Anywhere but here,
Repo man.
She’s in love with a repo man
She leaves and he finds her and repossesses
Her time and time again
Maybe one day
She’ll make up her mind to stay
But until than a few months in
Then she’s out the door and on her way
Hopeless
By Samuel K Byrd
A hot meal, a cold bed, and hopes
that tomorrow will be a better day
unemployed house foreclosed and the repo-man
arrived bright and early yesterday
tax cuts, tax incentives, stimulus package
all a little too late
get in line; get a plate, two hours later
you've forgotten what you just ate
classifieds job fairs Internet but nothing
seems to help
only good thing is that there is no wife or kids
I only have to provide for myself
just stay focused work the system
don't let it work you
keep your head high and your prayers higher
and soon you will make it through
Refrain:
We three mates can raise three cheers.
Here we are together raising our glasses of beers.
Any sins or troubles, let the beers wash them away.
We can be sober tomorrow. Let’s get loaded today.
As long as we are functioning alive,
we have to punch the time clock for nine to five.
Our supervisor is such a pain in the rear.
We can forget about him while we drink our beer.
With my automobile, I am two payments behind.
For the repo man, I will be difficult to find.
He won’t think of bringing the tow truck here.
The car will stay outside while we drink our beer.
For thirty years now, I’ve been stuck with my wife.
She has been torturing and pestering me for most of my life.
If I’m out too late, I know she will come here.
We can all wait patiently while we drink our beer.
Slipping
Ed Barton’s head hurt and his chest pounded. Or did his head pound and chest hurt? His problems were sucking him up like a dizzying vortex. “It’s money”, he thought bitterly; “lack thereof, more precisely”. His wife and kids called him “loser”. Knowing that more caffeine would make the pounding worse, he defiantly held the Starbucks latte grande in hand as the Bluetooth unlocked his Beemer; his lone remnant of the “old, happy Ed”. Grey all day, it began to teem as he opened the car door. Sliding in, intent not to spill the coffee, his slick loafers slipped. Down Ed went. Soaked, he lay there watching his coffee run; a muddy river carrying away his hopes. He though of his lost job, unpaid bills, the putrid turn life had taken. He decided to not get up. A crowd gawked. “Call 911!” a woman shrieked. Ed decided to will himself to die; end his miserable existence. A familiar voice intruded; “Barton, is that you?” “Hell” Ed muttered; “my nosy neighbor”. The interlude over he rose to face the world again; wait for the repo man to come.
“Battle”
black skyline shades tripped out heels
staggered buzz u mistake for swagger through your high
u turn the corner
i turn the block eyes pumped open timbs tied tight
pushing subway cars and b-line trains
this ain’t Chutes and Ladders or Monopoly
your ass is Sorry mind Boggled out in Candy land
u turn the corner I turn the block with…
suburban land through flower beds
inner city behind bare trees…
my mouth
perfected picket fence 2 car garage
rundown no fence buzzed in…
my mouth
chromed keys and rims valet parking
repo man coming incognito parking…
my mouth
u turn the corner fall down in shame from the spin
i turn the block eyes pumped open timbs tied tight
pushing subway cars and b-line trains
stepping over you a pillar of rhythm no shame
with…my mouth
Bat man had his fling with the Catwoman,
So I had to have my fling with The Muse,
However, this is something that no man
Should do again, because I was abused.
For me, everything started out great,
But, then, quickly took a turn for the worse,
Because all I wanted was a cool date,
And someone who appreciates my verse.
I met her while I was riding the bus,
So The Repo Man is to blame for this.
I wrote her sonnets that were about us,
Creating, for her, a poetic bliss.
Unfortunately, no more lines remain,
However, I need more time to explain.
The Repo Man infiltrated my loft,
And he made his move while I was sleeping,
But my "Sonnet Senses" never went off,
Therefore, I walked to the bus stop weeping.
You can not fight crime when you ride the bus,
With criminals trying to shoot at you,
Because then the driver would raise a fuss,
And there would be nothing that you could do.
So, even if I wanted to fight crime,
I would be late getting to the crime scene,
Knowing that the driver would take his time
Making all of the bus stops in between.
Of all the bad guys that left me undone,
The Repo Man was the sneakiest one.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.